Something in the Way (Something in the Way #1)(53)

“She’s scared,” the handler said. “I see it in her eyes. Betsy gets the same look when I bring her around all these kids.”

I gulped. “I’ll stay here and wait for you guys.”

“You sure?” the instructor asked. “You could ride with me.”

I’d only just met the guy. He might do this for a living, but what did that even mean? He could’ve been hired yesterday. Maybe he’d been an insurance salesman who’d gotten laid off and had decided owning a pair of cowboy boots qualified him for this job. “I’m sure.”

“Suit yourself. Looks like Betsy Junior’s safe another day.” He led Betsy back to the stable.

I turned and found Manning looking at me as if he were waiting for something. “What?” I asked.

“You know what.”

“No I don’t.”

“You got out of the Ferris wheel, but not this one. I’m going to make you get on a horse.”

“But—”

“Ride with me.”

My breath caught in my throat. But that would mean being pressed up against him for an hour. An entire hour. I’d probably faint—and fall off the horse. And get trampled. “But you just said you’ve never done it.”

“That guy gave me a quick lesson. I’m a natural sportsman.” He smiled crookedly. “I’ve got this, Lake.”

“It’s okay. I really don’t even want to.”

With the sun high in the sky, his dark eyes were nearly black. “You told me you weren’t afraid to get dirty.”

“It’s not that. What if the horse goes crazy and bucks me off?”

“Then you’ll fall, and we’ll get you up and dust you off.”

“What if I break something?”

“What if? You tell me.”

I opened my mouth. I’d expected him to tell me that wouldn’t happen. That he’d protect me. If I fell off, I might hurt myself and have to go to the infirmary, maybe even the hospital. But that was true for all the girls and boys around me. Which meant now, it wasn’t just about riding a horse. It was about proving what I could handle. How much hurt I could take and keep going. “Okay,” I said without an ounce of confidence. “I’ll ride with you.”

“Today,” he said. “And next time, you’ll do it yourself.”

I didn’t believe I could, but he didn’t need to know that. I nodded. “Which horse?”

“Betsy Senior. Come on.”

My knees nearly gave out. Of course Manning’s first time on a horse would be on the wildest one. I supposed if I was going to ride a Betsy at all, it might as well be with Manning. I followed him.

He tested the stirrup with his boot. “Put your foot in and get on.”

I looked down and back up at him. “On the horse?”

“Trust me, Birdy.” He gathered the reins. “I just did this with my own campers and a couple of yours.”

My heart slowed a little hearing his nickname for me. As soon as I stuck my tennis shoe in the stirrup, Manning lifted me onto the horse by my waist. “Christ, Lake,” he said, adjusting my foot in the stirrup. His head came all the way to my shoulder. “You weigh the same as a ten-year-old.”

It wasn’t true, but it probably felt that way to Manning, who could lift a horse without a struggle.

Okay, maybe not a horse. But he was strong.

Manning turned to walk away, and panic gripped me. I reached out and grabbed the first thing I could, nearly toppling over as I latched onto his t-shirt. “Where are you going?”

He stopped in his tracks, mostly because I had him in a death grip. When he saw me lopsided in the saddle, he laughed. “You know animals can sense fear, right?”

He wasn’t helping. “That’s a myth.”

“Is it?” He engulfed my fisted hand with his, but didn’t pull me off. “I was just going to make sure everyone got on, but if you think you need me more . . .”

I did. I needed him. Why didn’t I get to be selfish every now and then like everyone else? He would stay if I asked him to. Most of the girls had ridden horses before, some had even taken lessons. But I hadn’t come here to be with Manning—I’d come for them. I loosened my fist, and he held my hand until I’d righted myself on the horse.

“Two minutes,” he said. “If she moves, pull on the reins and say ‘whoa.’”

Manning checked in with each of his boys and my girls, too. The way he made eye contact with each one and listened to whatever they said made me wonder why my dad wasn’t like this with me when I got scared. He would’ve just told me to get on and quit whining. Did Manning get that from his dad? Where was Mr. Sutter? What did he do for a living? How often did Manning see him? After he’d shut down my questions about his sister, I wasn’t sure I could ask. But if Manning had become the man he was because of his dad, I wanted to meet and thank him.

Betsy Senior neighed and took a few steps, jolting me back to reality. I tugged on the reins.

Manning looked over and mouthed, Whoa.

“Whoa,” I said. Betsy stamped a hoof and settled.

It took longer than two minutes, but Manning returned once it was time to go. “You want to drive?”

“No. Will you? Please.”